Two weeks. That is what you need to do South Brittany's islands properly, and it is exactly what we gave ourselves last June aboard a chartered 38-footer out of La Trinite-sur-Mer. The plan was loose on purpose. South Brittany rewards the boat that can wait a day for the wind to back, and punishes the one with a ferry to catch. What follows is the fortnight as we actually sailed it, not the glossy version, with the distances and the anchorages that worked.
Base camp: La Trinite-sur-Mer
La Trinite is the obvious launch pad, and for good reason. It calls itself the sailing capital of the coast and the pontoons are thick with raceboats and serious cruisers. The La Trinite sur Mer sailing capital guide covers the marina and the river approach, which dries at the edges, so watch your tide on arrival. We provisioned hard on day one. The islands have shops, but prices climb and choice narrows the further out you go.
Getting the lie of the land first helps. The wider south Brittany cruising guide is worth an evening's reading before you cast off, because the whole archipelago hangs together as a cruising ground and the islands make far more sense once you see how the bays and passages connect.
A point worth making early: South Brittany is tidal water, and visitors coming from the Mediterranean or even from the calmer parts of the English south coast can underestimate it. The streams run hard through the passages between the islands and the mainland, the tidal range is significant, and many of the prettiest anchorages dry or take the ground at low water. None of this is difficult once you respect it, but it does mean you cruise by the tide table rather than the clock, and a plan that ignores the state of the water will come unstuck within a day. We worked every passage to carry a fair stream, which on these short hops makes the difference between a lazy sail and a slog.
Days one to three: out to Houat and Hoedic
We went small before we went far. Houat lies roughly twelve nautical miles from La Trinite, six closer than Belle-Ile, and it made a gentle first hop while we found our feet on the charter boat. The anchorage off the Treac'h er Goured beach on the eastern side is one of the loveliest in France, white sand and water the colour of a travel brochure, and on a settled forecast we swung there overnight with a dozen other boats and nobody crowding.
Hoedic sits just three nautical miles southeast of Houat, so we day-sailed across with a picnic and came back. The pair are tiny, car-free, and gloriously low-key. The full picture is in the Houat Hoedic Morbihan islands notes, including which anchorages turn nasty in a swell, because both islands are exposed and the holding off the beaches is sand over rock in places.
What struck me about Houat and Hoedic was how completely they ignore the modern world. There are no cars, the single village on each is a cluster of low whitewashed houses, and the rhythm of the day is set by the light and the tide rather than anything on a screen. We ate crab bought straight off a returning boat, walked the whole of Houat in an afternoon, and swam off the Treac'h er Goured sand in water that was bracing rather than warm. These are not islands you tick off. They are islands you slow down on, and the temptation to stay an extra night is the whole point of starting your fortnight here rather than rushing straight for Belle-Ile.
Days four to seven: Belle-Ile
Belle-Ile is the big one, around eighteen nautical miles from La Trinite, and it earns four days easily. We made Le Palais first, the main harbour under its Vauban citadel, and took a mooring buoy because the inner basin locks and fills fast in season. From there we worked the coast. Sauzon, the picture-postcard fishing harbour on the north, dries but is beautiful at the top of the tide. The wild Cote Sauvage on the Atlantic side is for fair weather only, the swell rolling straight in off the open ocean.
What surprised me was the scale. You can hire bikes at Le Palais and spend a whole day exploring inland, which is the right way to see it. The Belle-Ile en mer sailing guide maps the harbours and the best lee anchorages for each wind direction, and we leaned on it daily. A westerly that makes Sauzon untenable turns the eastern bays into millponds, and vice versa, so the island always offers shelter somewhere if you read it right.
Days eight and nine: back to the mainland and the Morbihan
Halfway through we wanted a change from open-water anchoring, so we ran north into the Gulf of Morbihan. This inland sea is a world of its own, a tide-scoured basin with dozens of islands and a famously fierce entrance. The Gulf of Morbihan by boat guide is essential because the entrance current runs hard and the timing is everything, much like working a tidal gate. We anchored off the Ile aux Moines, walked the lanes, ate galettes, and let the boat dry out gently on a falling tide in a sandy pool we had scouted at low water.
The Morbihan is a reminder that South Brittany is not only islands. It is rivers and lagoons too, and a fortnight has room for both. The contrast did us good: after a week of open-water anchoring with one eye always on the swell, the sheltered creeks of the gulf felt like a holiday within the holiday. We pottered up to Vannes, took mooring buoys off the smaller islands, and let the pace drop right off. If you have never timed a tidal entrance before, the Morbihan is a superb place to learn, because the consequence of getting it slightly wrong is a slow passage rather than anything dangerous.
Days ten to thirteen: the Glenan
For the finale we pushed west to the Glenan archipelago, a scatter of low islands enclosing a lagoon of unreal turquoise water. It is the closest thing France has to the Caribbean, and on a calm day at anchor in the central pool you could almost believe it. The Glenan archipelago anchorage notes are vital here, because the lagoon is shallow, the bottom is studded with rock, and the holding varies wildly. We anchored carefully, watched our swing, and set an anchor alarm.
The Glenan are exposed and there is no all-weather shelter, so we kept a close eye on the forecast and were ready to run for the mainland if it turned. Concarneau lies within reach to the north, and the Concarneau walled town from water makes a fine bolt-hole and a charming overnight, its medieval ville close ringed by ramparts you can walk straight off the pontoon to reach.
Day fourteen: home to La Trinite
We ran back east on the last good day, riding a fair tide through the Teignouse passage into Quiberon Bay and on to La Trinite. The whole fortnight covered perhaps 120 nautical miles of actual sailing, which tells you how little ground island-hopping really involves. The distances are short. It is the weather, the tides and the temptation to stay one more night that fill the days.
A few honest lessons. None of these islands offers guaranteed all-weather shelter, so build slack into the plan and never commit to a crossing on a deteriorating forecast. The anchorages are busy in July and August, so cruise in June or September if you can. And carry a folding bike or be prepared to walk, because the joy of Belle-Ile and Houat is found ashore as much as afloat. A South Brittany fortnight is not a delivery passage with stops. It is a slow, tide-bound wander between islands that each ask you to stay longer than you planned.
